


A Moth Consumed

by lilithenaltum



Category: Outsiders (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, I hope Christina and Kyle don't see this lmao, Sexual Content, fill in the blanks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithenaltum/pseuds/lilithenaltum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people weren’t meant for settling, some people were moths in the firelight, touching and going and kissing the flames but never surrendering to them.</p>
<p>Hasil Farrell was that moth. Or, he was. ‘Till he went down the mountain on a run and saw the most beautiful thing ever shaped with heavenly hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or basically, the smut between scenes. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moth Consumed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lafiametta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafiametta/gifts).



The first woman Hasil Farrell ever lay with was a cousin of G'winveer’s named Moraye McGintuk. She was five years older, 22 to his barely 17, lovely auburn hair and pale moon kissed skin. Like her cousin, she was a healer, and it was after a particularly nasty run in with poison oak that he even met her. Kind and soft spoken, there was a sort of electric feel to her delicate touches, an almost coquettish quality in the way she applied the salve soaked dressings to his thighs and torso.

 

He’d worked up the courage after three days to make a move and even ask her to Lady Ray’s name day party. She’d laughed and shook her head. “You a wee bit too young for me, Hasil,” she had said, and though disappointed, it didn’t stop him from pursuing her for a dance that next week after, then another and another, bringing her sweet berry lemonade and spiking it with a little bit of Krake’s personal brew to get a laugh out of her.

 

“Are ya tryin’ to get me drunk? Take advantage of me maybe?”  
  


 

He’d turned red then, shook his head, stuttering out his apologies before she silenced him with a slim finger. “I’m only pickin’, darlin’.” And then she’d leaned in close, one hand clutching the cool jar of lemonade, the other dragging it’s fingers down the front of his thin summer shirt. “Maybe I’m alright with alladat. Maybe that’s what I want. What _you_ want?”

 

He’d hesitated, a tickle of breath sneaking past his parted lips. The heat from his blush traveled down below, way down below where he usually handled himself in the creek, the crisp water doing nothing to quell the swell and ache of want he’d felt since four summers past. He’d had Moraye in mind the last couple of days while he took care of that ache, and she was pressing her soft body against him, inviting him to take her if he wanted.

 

He’d wanted. And he had taken.

 

She’d come back to him several times after that during that seventeenth summer, patiently teaching him the ways of a woman’s body, coaxing a gentle and attentive lover out of an impulsive, wild boy. Hasil would always be grateful to her for her teachings, for her wisdom and humor, for her sweet caresses and kisses. But he’d known she wasn’t his to have. And by his eighteenth summer, she’d married another boy from around the hollow. But Moraye would always be his first, and Moraye would always be with him, no matter how many girls he’d have after that; Shay girls and McGintuks and even a few Farrell cousins further down the line. He was fairly certain she’d been his first love, even, though he’d never been jealous of her husband, never had the desire to tie her down. Some people weren’t meant for settling, some people were moths in the firelight, touching and going and kissing the flames but never surrendering to them.

 

Hasil Farrell was that moth. Or, he _was_. ‘Till he went down the mountain on a run and saw the most beautiful thing ever shaped with heavenly hands.

 

He’d fallen into the flames then, consumed and enraptured, mouthing her name over and over till he got to speak to her again. She’d turned him down; deflated, he picked up his ego and reworked his strategy. _Good things were worth fightin’ and workin’ for, Hasil._ He’d remembered his Fa saying that years back before the fever had taken him, when he was but a boy on his knee. And he knew, looking at Sally Ann, that she was definitely worth fighting and working for.

 

Worked he did. He’d stolen, beaten, lost two fingers, gotten locked up and tazed, stared at and hollered at and yet even the pain that lingered in the stumps of his maimed hand couldn’t even compare to the power he felt when he made her smile.

 

So when she kissed him, leaned in by that tree on her own volition and kissed him right and proper…he’d soared, damn near left his own body and took to the sky in spirit because this creature, this absolute angel from heaven was kissing him.

 

And now, on a mattress in the house of a woman who’d left this earth for the better life above, she was loving him. Touching him, her frantic gasps and movements discombobulating him. He dug his fingers into the blankets beneath her lush, lovely _(dear God was she lovely)_ body and tried to gain purchase, tried his damnedest to gather some semblance of control.

 

But she was making it so damned hard. So. Hard.

 

“Ha…Hasil,” she breathed, right into the hollow of his throat, and then she moaned, tightened her thighs around his waist and rocked beneath him a little slower. “Slow down, slow…oh Jesus…” Two small hands smoothed the curtain of hair that fell around his face, hair that was sticking to his brow and tickling his face. “Am I hurtin’ ya?” He managed to pant out and she shook her head, her nails scraping the skin of his cheeks softly. “No, no I just…I wanna…” She dug her heels behind his back and lifted her bottom, moving her hips slowly and deliberately and Hasil dropped his head at how just incredibly good, how sweet and hot and right and _good_ that felt. “I wanna _feel_ you, Hasil,” she whispered, almost to his undoing but he reigned his body in quick and nodded silently, lifting himself on both hands and watched her face as he began, again, to move with her.

 

If, he thought distantly, he were to perish right that moment, he’d have been perfectly happy. He’d have been blissfully and almost deliriously happy. He swore he wouldn’t stop for not a thing, and as her nails found sharper purchase in the flesh of his back, as he stroked and thrust and moved inside her, as he drank the salt that pooled at the curve of her throat, he wanted nothing in the world more than for this to never ever ever end. Even as his arms shook and his hips pumped faster and deeper and harder. Even as she gripped his ass and mouthed for him to “ _go deeper, Hasil, please_ ”, even as the first crest hit her and he marveled at how beautiful she was as her pleasure overtook her, he didn’t want this to end. No, not now, not never. So he slowed again, even as she groaned in protest, slipped out of her and slid down her body with kisses and nibbles, tasting her flesh like a man starved. She was so hot there, warm and sweet and dripping for him and he reveled in the squeeze of her thighs around his head, his tongue delving and dipping and drawing and flicking and drawing tiny gasps and squeals from her as she neared her peak again. She pulled his hair and ground her hips and called to the Lord but he didn’t stop…not till she was damn near at that precipice and then, that’s when he pulled her hips to him again and pushed his way back inside heaven, body shaking as he did because he was so hard and so close and all it took, the only thing it took…

 

He managed a dozen more thrusts before her second orgasm captured him, took him in, devoured him, swallowed him eager and hungry, and her name was on his lips like a chanted prayer, her body his solace and hope and comfort in that one incredible moment.

 

Hasil slowed his jerky, desperate thrusts and fought for breath and sanity as she laughed, the most beautiful sound in the world even as the blood still rushed in his ears.

 

“Alright,” she exhaled, between giggles and breathy little chuckles. “Was it fine?” he asked, still not in the solid world, still somewhere between the sky and the moon. “Yeah,” she whispered, and he wrapped her tight in his arms, her skin warm against his, her pulse throbbing in time with his.

 

Hasil Farrell had a feeling, even as she snatched her scattered clothes and left in a worried hurry, even as he blew out the candles and straightened the room, as lay back in the dark on that mattress that smelled of her and him and their loving, that Sally Ann would be the last woman he’d ever lay with.

 

 


End file.
